


Death picked up my Life

by Ikana



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Death, M/M, ZoSan - Freeform, zosanheadcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikana/pseuds/Ikana
Summary: If Sanji were to die, Zoro picks up a habit of his.What had irked him all the time is now the last thread connecting him to the one who left him.Warning:Mention of Character DeathUpdate! - I've been proofreading the story and added some details. The word count rose from 1948 to 3809. Give rereading it a try if you like :D





	Death picked up my Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [headcanon?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/355038) by anon?. 



In nights like these, closing your eyes and drifting to sleep was as unthinkable as ever letting go of life itself. 

The impossibility of allowing mere dreams to force memories back into consciousness would feel like a much greater sin than the fact of having gone down onto his knees for prayer during the last moments of life.  
He regretted it. Having thought that something as unreal and yet eternal like god would hear him out after his whole life of deadlocked denial. 

He had never believed in greater existences, even during the time he had prayed. But before everything ended, his hope had resolved to this aimless action.  
Praying.  
And naturally failing. 

The bitter taste of burnt tobacco smoke irritated his throat. The smoke made the mucosa not only feel sore and dry, it was also driving him mad how easily the tobacco relaxed him. …as if relaxing was reasonable at a time like this…  
But Zoro still wasn’t used to it, so the effect was probably way stronger than on chain smokers who did it for years on end. 

What a day…  
Remembering death as if it was a continuous experience. Over and over again. It would never let him go, would never let him sleep. These memories had clawed themselves into Zoro’s head for good. Minor situations brought back the lively, yet deadly memories. But reliving them in dreams, that he would not allow anymore. If it was the pain that was to return, he’d rather remember it on his own accord, than letting his subconscious handle it while he replenished his energy in something as sweet as sleep.  
No. He wanted to be the one to handle it for 100%. Fully aware. Fully conscious. 

Zoro set down the cup of poorly made coffee. Watery. Detestable. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of how to use this thing. It felt like it had been ages since he had had good coffee. The brand that he used was expensive, but that did not compensate his lack of skills that kept him from brewing it properly. 

When it came to the household, he was a good man, suitable for chores. But kitchen work on the other hand, that just wasn’t his territory. That showed in him burning the toast every morning, wasting eggs by dropping them or frying them on such an incredible heat that they turned from clear to black without going through the stage of hardening and becoming white. Yup, that was the way he did things. Being together with a cook was one of the causes he never got practice into preparing meals. He simply never had to. 

Sanji had always said that being such a failure in the kitchen in itself was a unique skill and they had fought over it a lot. But truth to be admitted, it was a miracle indeed how useless, or rather helpless Zoro acted in a kitchen.  
Zoro felt like a typical good for nothing person when it came to these things. Yet he always happily cleaned it all. Taking care of the dishes was the only kitchen related chore je was useful at. Nowadays cleaning up the dishes gave him a nostalgic feeling too. It reminded him of old times.  
…When life was still present in his existence. 

He shoved the ashtray aside to get it out of his sight and picked up the empty cup of coffee.  
Dark clouds hung low in the far away sky and fine drops drizzled from high above to down below onto the earthly grounds outside the comfortably warm room. They were veiling the air with their wet filigree texture that was preventing Zoro from seeing too far beyond the world he lived in. A world that expanded from where he was and on the inside of the cage that was in fact his own room. Everything behind the glass barrier in form of his window, it wasn’t part of his world anymore.

Just when he wondered what he might be able to see behind the mysterious curtain of rain, he shook his head and pulled his eyes away from the glass dispersing him from here and there. …dispersing his grief inside from the other world outside. 

What should he look at anyway? True reality only happened within these gloomy walls…

He had not opened nor closed the curtains in… what was it now? Three and a half weeks. White sheers hung aimlessly before seemingly glass that mirrored his pitiful frame, the thick opaque curtains as the next layer were half closed. One of its ends hung sloppily over the couch’s back rest. It seemed untidy, yet unfixed based on sad intentions.

Lightning flicked outside and shortly made the world seem bright, but darkness fell upon the man once more as the auspicious growl of thunder knocked him out of unthought skies. 

Dim light flickered for the blink of an eye and a cigarette was lit. The lighter got thrown back onto the table carelessly and landed with a clacking noise.  
A familiar smell engulfed the man and his muscles relaxed a little bit as the first deep drag was done. The emitted fragrance was a comforting smell.  
Again his throat felt a bit irritated by the unhealthy smoke. He had to cough, but he kept inhaling persistently as deep as he could. 

Almost as if it could save him.  
Him and his damned soul. 

He took his sweet time enjoying the deadly bliss that fogged his system with false comfort. He had leaned back, his head was placed securely on the back rest with his neck exposed. He faced the ceiling when he threw his right hand over the rest to have it spread out to reach the curtain that still hung there. With a pang of guilt he clutched it, tried to imagine what it was like to panic at the lack of air, to hold onto anything to feel secure.  
The left hand reached to bring the filter of the cigarette to his lips and while his gaze was still fixed to the ceiling – looking, but not seeing – he allowed another set of smoke to enter his system. 

Without a second thought he pulled the curtain towards his cheek and he leaned against it. It smelled unwashed, reeked of old and cold smoke. Someday he would wash it. But not today. Not tomorrow either. Only when he was ready to let go. But when that was ought to happen, that was something God only knew. And God would never tell him. 

Ashes dropped onto his clothes and he sighed annoyed. His tense fingers loosened and let go of the curtain without putting it back into a tidy position. It was essential to keep them the way they were.

He brushed it off, accidentally rubbed it into the texture of his shirt and sighed again. Time to stub the cigarette out and keep on cleaning. Sanji disliked dirty dishes more than anything. He would make him happy by keeping the kitchen in perfect condition. Happy Sanji was all he wanted after all.

After he had put out the remaining smouldering stick, he grabbed the cup and matching bottom plate and walked over to the counter where the sink was. 

Zoro stared down at the metallic grey sink that shone brightly from all the wiping he did every single day to make the house look pleasing. For when Life should be ready to return into these walls. With a bright smile and the welcomed smell of delicious cooking and burnt tobacco. 

Monotonous clattering of the cup hitting its bottom plate resounded in the otherwise silent room when he put the porcelain inside to get them washed. Zoro’s brain had the storm’s thunder blocked out. To him, the outer world didn’t exist anymore.

Another lightning strike. The unlit room got bright with an instant flash.

For a moment he had seen Life before his eyes. He had felt it as if it were back with him. In shock he had whipped around to see, but there was nothing but monochrome darkness in plain sight.

…what a huge house to possess when you’re alone.  
What a mercilessly huge living room it was for nobody to be alive in here. 

With a deep sigh, Zoro turned back to look at the stained cup containing a small remnant of the tasteless liquid he called coffee. It couldn’t be helped. He reached for the faucet. The water immediately flowing from it had a similarly hollow sound as the water coming from the sky had. It resonated quietly but it sounded so painfully hollow to him…

As he applied the dish soap onto the sponge, he felt himself getting dizzy for the first time since a few hours. The smell of the so called apple-citrus soap insulted his nostrils with its obtrusive smell. 

The cup matching plate were all clean again quickly. He set them down onto the kitchen counter to let them rest there shortly so he could reach for the dishtowel to dry them. But when his eyes closed for a brief second, the heaviness of his lids tried to force him to pass out in order to recharge. He fought well to open them up again. Because he lost his balance for an instant, he staggered back and felt his hand brush something. At the immediate glance, Zoro saw the cup about to fall. 

Quick reflexes helped him to rescue the valuable piece of porcelain. A part of a set to be precise. A set that was never going to be used again. 

He went back to the couch. Another cigarette. Another drag.  
Tobacco. Smoke. A pain in the ass. Washing clothes and curtains regularly, how much had he hated it. He had always done so much to get that ugly stench out of the fabrics so it would not bother him. How much had they argued about Sanji to quit smoking in favour of their belongings? In favour of both of their lungs too… 

Countless times. All of them in vain anyway. The world would go down before Sanji quitted smoking.  
Hah… how much truth these words held… So very brutal truth… 

The world had ended after all. 

Zoro scuffed back into the living room and grabbed the pack again to retrieve one of the long sticks and lit it right away. However after some time, he set the halfway smoked cigarette down and put it into the ashtray. It was in his way. It was an ugly habit that killed people. But Sanji had probably been too young, too narrow minded to understand. It was Sanji’s way of living and Zoro was the one who had fallen for the whole cook, bugging, pretty and smoking too. 

He remembered it clearly. Whenever Sanji had set it to his lips, Zoro had been all worked up. Mostly because Sanji knew exactly how to make something so disgusting look so shamelessly sexy. When the cigarette hung between his lips and Sanji leaned against the kitchen counter, chest pushed forward and legs slightly apart. When he’d expose his neck so voluptuously, sigh and then inhale and when the smoke would come out again with this particular blowing sonority or sometimes with a teasing moan. It had always worked on Zoro. Without failure up to the very day. 

When he called it back into mind, he felt himself getting aroused. Shame and disgust washed over him when he could feel his tired loins tingle and his centre of lust fill with blood. He groaned as he put his palm up to cover his eyes to evade grappling with awkward reality. How stupid was this, exposing himself mental stimulation in a situation like this. 

To distract himself from the unwelcomed stimulus, Zoro leaned forward to grab a bunch of wrinkled papers and studied them for a second to pick the right one. Another mark was added to the tally chart he had. One of three he had. 

One for the days since Life had left – 24.  
One for the hours he kept himself awake at a stretch by force – 55.  
One for the times he cried – It was blurred with tears. 

The one he made was a mark for the hours awake at a stretch. He had managed another hour. Altogether that made 56. His limit was soon to be hit. Those marks and tallies helped him to keep himself focused and sane while being engulfed with Death. 

He checked the watch and eventually got up silently. The smell of burnt tobacco and poisonous smoke got left behind. He needed a change of atmosphere. 

With slow, yet determined steps the overly exhausted man walked down the stairs to where their basement was. He was barefoot, he was cold and it probably did harm to his health, but that wasn’t important. Someone who was already dead wouldn’t have to worry about getting sick, right? 

He put on a pair of boxing gloves and walked up a punching bag installed in the corner of the room. The light was dim, the light bulb he had put into it a few months back had been too weak, but Zoro had never reacted to Sanji’s nagging. _“It’s fine, as long as we see, why bother exchanging a good bulb?”_ was what Zoro had always replied to Sanji’s complaints.  
If only he had listened. That would have made their last moments brighter. Not only in a way of light, but also in a way of fun. Less tension, less quarrelling. If only everything had been smoothed out before their forceful separation…

Truth to be told, even their fights have always been harmless and more of a gentle pestering than serious hate. Zoro probably did not have to worry about anything. …but he did. To the very end, something hadn’t been perfect. 

But parting ways would have been so much nicer with everything the way it should have been.  
With no flaws left and no room for regrets like these. 

Zoro punched the bag hard. He had not warmed up before but he told himself that he would get warm enough eventually while training. The caffeine would eventually kick in as well and even though it had been a tasteless brown brew of more water than anything else, it would show effect at some point. He knew by experience. 

Another push.  
The loud sound of the leather gloves colliding with the heavy punching bag got covered by another thunder.  
Another punch. Another. Another. Another! Another!  
He swung more and more punches, faster with every coming hit, harder with each strike. His breath became ragged while he let out all the aggression, tension and also desperation that had built up inside him and that had nowhere else to go. 

Time passed, sweat began to build up on his forehead and finally his circulation got spurred on sufficiently to pump warmth back into his hands and feet that had felt like frozen for the last few hours.  
During this, Zoro felt more alive again. When he moved and trained, it was like he was a different person living in a different world. Like this he could let go for a little while, could forget about what had happened. It was almost as if he could just leave the house and greet everyone on the street the next day. He imagined the clouds being gone and Life would show up just like Life normally did, to whirl around him in all the usual energy and brightness. 

The hits became harder. Harder and harder, stronger and fiercer still.  
Nonsense. Death was Death. Never would he be able to greet this once so beautiful brightness again! Those hopeful thoughts were pathetic bullshit!  
Waving to your neighbours on warm spring days... Staying at home through summer storms and getting out for sun bathing, swimming, walking or just plain for work during the nice days, it was all a dream. Left to be an illusion. Past and gone.  
He hit even harder at these thoughts. Nothing could bring anything back to life. Let alone a human. 

Gone meant gone. Gone for good. And gone forever. 

God had no mercy for those who wished for something.  
God was cruel for taking the most precious from him that he ever had. 

Down in the basement where the light of lightning could not reach, his lungs cleared up, far away from Sanji’s constant smoking. To Zoro, it still felt like it was Sanji who was the one doing the smoking after all. Sanji’s habit had always enforced his presence in the house by spreading through the familiar smell. Whenever Zoro had entered the house and the smell of burnt tobacco had invaded his nostrils, it had always given off such a nostalgic atmosphere.  
…Zoro missed it. He missed it all so much that he couldn’t even focus on the training properly. All he did was to try and go harder with each delivered smack and went even far enough to lose his cool and to scream out gutturally with each and every single hit.

Then it happened. He hit in a bad angle and heard a cracking noise. It was in an instant that Zoro pulled back with a gut-wrenching roar as pain comparable to the spot being hit by lightning pierced his wrist mercilessly. His first instinctive reaction was to retreat his damaged hand towards his chest where he cradled it for a little comfort in the hope that would ease the pain somewhat. 

The wrist was definitely damaged, that was for sure. Sanji could patch it up for him. … if he were not dead that is… Why had he thought about Sanji again right now? His throat tightened. What a bad timing for getting sentimental… 

Zoro tried to push off the boxing glove to check on his injury, to make sure it was still whole, but taking it off just like that proved to be a task of impossibility. The pain was way too excruciating.  
He took the glove of his healthy hand between his teeth and pulled it off roughly until his jaw hurt, but with that he now had his good hand to use to pull the second glove off as well. 

When he gave it a sharp tug to get rid of it in one go he screamed out again, the pain numbing his heated up body again in mere seconds. 

Zoro panted heavily.  
It had come off, but that wrist was definitely broken.  
Curse life.  
Curse death. 

These two were the perfect lover’s couple.  
While Life sends over countless living beings, as soon as they arrive, Death keeps them forever.  
They must really love each other. Otherwise the constant dynamics of give and take wouldn’t work so flawlessly. But if they knew what love was, then why did they destroy the love of those alive in such an ineffably cruel way? 

Zoro bit the inside of his cheek as he felt his eyes burn up.  
Another stormy day with tears. 

He roared out in so much pain that was caused from so much more than just his wrist.

Keeping his emotions in check was no longer a possibility at the point of brokenness he had reached by now. His voice rose to a staggering pitch as he smashed his head against the wall violently to feel something, just something! He did it once. The brutal impact distracted him from his wrist, but the noise it made held such an unhealthy sound. 

The head got slammed against the dry brick wall again with another animalistic roar that just needed to leave the tense body and something wet dripped from his eyebrow down his eye. It felt cold. Apparently a tiny rivulet formed in his face and ran down next to his eye, along the cheek where the collected blood of a freshly open wound dropped from his chin. 

But it wasn’t enough. Far from enough! The good had got elevated up high and the damaged one was placed on the floor, underside facing up. He hit the broken spot brutally and yelled out in so much pain that he wasn’t able to contain. He was shattered. Purely shattered, smashed into pieces, broken by life, mangled by himself! He hit and hit so hard, as hard as he hit the punching bag and blood went spraying everywhere at the fierce movements he did during the ordeal. Tears accompanied the red liquid and dizziness washed over him, blackness fogged his sight, concealed his mind successfully so even Zoro had no other choice than to stop. Or his body would eventually give in and he’d collapse. He didn’t want that to happen. 

His breath was fast and irregular, the heart was racing in its cage of ribs. Inside his empty chest. Down on his knees he tilted over and cried so bitterly over the loss that he couldn’t handle. 

Minute after minute rolled by and let him age without him noticing. Every passing minute brought him closer to where his true Life was right now. To the other side, where there was likely to be a doorstep and if he’d pass it, it would smell like perfectly prepared food and tobacco. 

He inhaled deeply a few times, tried to get the better of his consciousness. And when he had regained control he sighed one more time as deep as he could before he got up.  
“Sorry, Sanji… I got the wall a bit dirty…”, he murmured purposelessly while carrying himself up the stairs.  
When he reached the main floor, he faced the sheer blackness of the night. Another lightning strike.  
The couch was in plain view for an instance and the flashback of the young blond hit him hard. 

Sanji on the couch…

During night.  
After a long day of work.  
Zoro had returned home.  
And lightning had it revealed.  
The dead body.  
White in this short light.  
Eyes wide open. The curtain pulled halfway closed and since then never to be rearranged again. Probably grabbed in desperation by the breathless Sanji. 

A lung infarct.  
That was what they had told Zoro. 

Due to excessive smoking. 

That day Zoro’s Life had been taken. 

When he had been back home, he had sat down right where Sanji had died.  
He had taken out a cigarette from the pack that had still been there and he had taken the lighter. 

Right now, Zoro had sat down right where Sanji’s corpse had been.  
The trauma was endless.  
Zoro took a cigarette and lit it. The 129th since he had stopped sleeping now 57 hours ago. 

The smell was so nostalgic.  
The smoke was still irritating though.  
But it was the last bastion that connected him to Life. 

To the Life of his husband that had made him whole. 

 

_Now his existence had been ruined._

**Author's Note:**

> You probably figured it out.  
> "Life" is a reference to Sanji, for Sanji made him feel alive. Now that he's dead, Zoro considers himself dead as well, just the dimensions they exist in differ. But Zoro knows, he cannot follow Sanji.  
> They will never meet again. That is their fate.
> 
> I hope it did not turn out too boring.  
> I'm not good with emotions. Or death.  
> ...especially not death.


End file.
